In Your Place
by KassyMalone
Summary: Injured in a battle on the high seas with that idiot Spain, a feverish England wakes up in his own bed. Luckily, his new little brother Russia is there to take care of him. Not everyone is happy with England choice of little brother - something is off about the lavender-eyed man - and you know, they may be right...
1. Chapter 1 In Your Place

Disclaimer: do not own blahblah.

I wrote this on a whim, inspired by a doujinshi I read once (Although the name escapes me). I hope you enjoy. All constructive feedback welcome.

**In Your Place**.

England awoke suddenly, caked in a cold sweat, stomach lurching and bounding like a vessel in a storm plagued ocean. His body felt heavy, his limbs refusing to move, but his mind was not clear enough to exert his will against them. With a sudden deep breath, his mind cleared, and he felt his strength return, if only a little, and his eyes could focus on the familiar dark blue canvas above his bed. Its stability was comforting to his rocking mind, convinced he was swaying where he lay, and he closed his eyes to regain his composure. A cold cloth pressed against his forehead, bringing a brief moment of clarity.

"Who…?"

He tried to lift himself, but small, strong hands gently pushed him back down.

"You have a fever, big brother." A young voice told him "Go back to sleep. You'll be okay in the morning."

America? Suddenly overcome with dizziness, his mind lapsed insensible, as he fell back to sleep.

The morning light drifted in through the window, bringing with it a gentle, chilled spring breeze and the scent of the roses and peony blooming in the garden. It was a plesent smell, and the cool breeze took the throbbing heat from his brow. Sitting up was hard, but he managed, peeling back the sheets and blankets – perhaps it was time to change to summer bedding – and standing to the best of his ability. With shaky steps, he crossed to the basin and washed his face, feeling refreshed and clear for first time in a while. Senses cleared, his side started to throb – sure enough, he was swaddled in fresh bandages.

The memory came back to him with the breeze – open air, high seas, he had locked rapiers with that empty-headed Spanish bastard. He had won – sunk the wanker like a rock – but he had been injured in the process. How long ago was that? It would have taken him a week to get back to Britain. His stomach lurched, empty, demanding to be fed. He groaned – in his weakened state, he didn't really feel like cooking, but he doubted any of his brothers cared about his injury enough to come to stay with him now. With a sigh, he pulled on some simple clothes and hobbled to the kitchen, but as he limped down the hall, the smell of lamb and potatoes met his nose.

Wales? Surely not. The figure of a boy greeted him in the kitchen. He looked around 10 or 11, perhaps a little too slim for his age, hands and feet bound with bandages. His clothes looked new, and above what he supposed the boys parents could honestly afford. Perhaps hearing his pained shuffles, the boy turned around.

"Ah, big brother!" the boy greeted happily "Lunch is almost ready, please sit down."

That accent… another wave of nausea hit him, and he steadied himself against the wall.

"Big brother?!" the boy rushed forward and grabbed him.

England laughed pitifully, and with a pained smile, ruffled the worried lads silver hair.

"I'm alright." He promised "Don't you waste your energy worrying about me, Russia."

The lads lavender eyes betrayed his concern as he clutched helplessly at Englands sleeve. England smiled again, trying to appear less pained.

"Take that look off your face, lad!" he ordered "It hurts me far more than this little cut ever can."

Looking on the verge of crying, Russia threw his arms around England. He started to hug him tightly, but remembering his injuries, lessened his grip. The scruffy blonde country felt his shirt become damp.

"Hey now, boy, what's gotten into you? You weren't that worried, were you?"

Russia became still, and after a moment he released the older nation, childish – if somewhat unnerving – smile spread across his face.

"I just never thought this would really happen." He said absently.

Eh?

Oh, right. The fever must have addled his brain, his memories just trickled by like water through a sieve. His nation was almost bankrupt. He couldn't afford the vessels and crew needed to get to the new world in search of riches like many of his neighbours in Europe. It was somewhat humiliating, but ever resilient, England had gone eastward instead, searching out new markets for trade in the frozen Baltics. There, he had met the young boy that was Russia. The world was full of cruelty and unfairness – Britain knew that well – but he found that he just couldn't turn a blind eye to his young nations maltreatment. After filling Russias head with tales of rolling green fields and bright, warm summers, the young nation was practically chomping at the bit to leave his frozen tundra behind. As for Russias boss – well, who cared what they thought. Their trade with Western Europe was too valuable to them for them to be able to make demands.

Britain ruffled Russias hair again.

"No more fake smiles, Russia." He urged "You don't have to pretend with me."

Russia examined Englands face, lavender eyes taking in his every feature, and finally his expression softened.

"Ivan." He insisted "If I call you 'big brother', you must call me 'Ivan.'"

"Alright, alright." England agreed "Now, let's go eat before the stew curdles."

With good, hearty food and the land of his nation beneath his feet, Britain soon returned to health, and talk came once again of him heading back out to sea. Thanks to their commerce with the frozen east, the nations coffers were filling briskly, and the lords and ladies of the land were eager for the spirit of their nation to set sail and bring back the riches of the new world. Russia, however, was most certainly not.

"But it sounds so dangerous!" he pleaded with England "What about storms and sea monsters? What if the new world is full of bears and wolves and strange new diseases?!"

"Ivan…"

"Big brother, please don't go!"

He threw his arms around the older nation and buried his face in his chest.

"Please don't go!" he begged pitifully "I need you here! I need you _here!"_

Britain sighed and wrapped his arms around the boy – god, he was growing fast – holding him gently.

"Come now, you're not a baby." He cooed "You're a strong lad, Ivan, you'll be fine without me."

"But what if you die, big brother!" he screeched, pulling away to look England in the face "What if you're killed in the new world? What if you're lost at sea? What will happen to this country if you drown?"

"What if the moon falls out of the sky?" England parroted "What if everyones nose falls off?" he asked, giving the boy an eskimo kiss "What is everybody suddenly turns French? You can't live your life wondering 'what if.'"

Russia looked even more frustrated, holding his big brother tighter.

"I won't let you go!" he insisted "I'll make you stay, big brother!"

England never did go to the new world. Something always came up, be it the wishes of his queen, the needs of his countrymen, or his trade to the east. As soon as talk of setting sail would start, Ivan would cling to him like a little boy, and the bigger he got, the more difficult it was to shake him off. Soon enough, rumours started circulating that the personification of the new nation had been found – a little boy by the name of America – and taken in by the cheese eating surrender monkey. While jealous of Frances mobility, England felt a little bad for the boy, knowing full well what it was like to put up with the too touchy France.

Meanwhile, Russia continued to grow, and grow, and grow, until he was far taller than England himself. Although the silver haired nation was still as sweet and childish as before, England did find it rather funny to refer to him as his 'little' brother. In time, his wounds healed, and the scars of the past faded. Occasionally, he would return to the vast land of his birth for business, but he never stayed long. His relations with his (frankly insane) sisters weren't the best, and he was always happy to see his big brother upon his return. Whenever England had to travel, Ivan would try his best to accompany him, but he didn't panic the way he did when talk of the new world came up. England knew that the boy hated to be alone, and his soft spot for the child made sure he usually gave in to his whims. The dread pirate England was definitely softening in the company of the younger nation.

Of a winters eve, the brothers sat before a fire to warm their cockles. Ivan sat on the rug before the hearth, leant back against Britain, who absentmindedly played with his silky hair, while an embattled looking France slouched in the armchair beside them, irked at their lack of sympathy for his tale of woe.

"I'm telling you, Arthur, _c'est terrible_!" he whined "I thought it would be like when we were young, but _non_!" he huffed "That America is untameable! 'E is like a wild animal, always fighting! And freakishly strong…"

"Well, what did you expect?" was the younger nations reply "You've been getting weaker and weaker with every passing year, like the big girls blouse that you are. Did you really expect to be able to handle governing another nation? From what I hear, America is a massive nation."

"Oui." France spat bitterly "Between 'im and Canada, they 'ave eaten me out of 'ouse an 'ome!" he sighed, eyeing Ivan "I envy you, Arthur."

"What's that, old chap?"

"Your little Ivan 'angs on your every word!" France pointed out, hugging his torso against the winters cold "And 'e is equally as big as America! 'Ow do you do it?"

England thought of an answer right away, but stayed his tongue. He was trying, these days, to be a gentleman, and if he could pull it off with Francis, he could pull it off with _anyone_. He jumped a little as he felt Russia wrap his arms around his waist and rest his head on his lap.

"Well, I'm not afraid he's going to sexually harass me." Ivan said, taking the words strait from Arthurs brain.

"Wha…?!" Francis was clearly scandalised "What kind of man do you take big brother for?! I would never lay my 'and on an_ enfant_!"

England remembered things differently – although the two of them were far closer in age than France was with Canada or America, so did it count? Ivan simply smiled and tightened his grip on Arthurs waist.

"The taxes you have levied against the new world have been harsh." Ivan pointed out "And your government lacks the authority to govern them forcefully. America and Canada will be better off independent from you. Or maybe Sweden and Finland will take over their care?"

France went bright red, starting from the ears and moving inward to his nose. Ivan simply smirked.

"Big brother, I'm tired." Ivan said to Arthur, interrupting France before he could shriek at him "Its time for bed, da?"

"Oh? Well, it is getting late." Arthur reasoned and, remembering the ways of the gentleman, turned to France "Will you be staying the night?"

France, arms still crossed, glared at Ivan.

"_Oui_." He spat "_S'il vous plait_."

"Eh?" Ivan immediately interjected "But where will he sleep? The spare room is being renovated, there's no bed in there..!"

England thought for a moment. Before he could open his mouth, he felt France wrap his arms possessively around his shoulders. Well, that's a lie – he smelt him first, that lily cologne as overpowering as always.

"Perhaps I should spent the night in the bed of _mon petite frère_." France teased, half hissing, never taking his eyes off Ivan.

"No thanks." Was Englands immediate response, raising his arms to shake off Frances grip.

"Wh-… you wound me!"

"Yes, I'm sure. Get off a moment, Ivan."

England stood, trying to think of what a gentleman would do in this situation. He would give up his bed or share it. He certainly didn't fancy the idea of sharing a bed with France – even if he got through the night unmolested, he would have to launder the sheets at least three times to get the cologne stench out. He couldn't ask Ivan to give up his bed for the Frenchman. Resigned, he sighed.

"You-"

"You can stay in my room." Ivan offered immediately, standing, almost an entire head above Francis "I'll stay with big brother in his room."

France looked displeased, hands on his hips.

"Well, that's that." England agreed "Ivan, why don't you go and get changed so Francis can have your room."

"Alright." Russia started to leave the room, eyes fixed of France "Perhaps next time_, big brother France _will find himself an inn to stay in like a good guest."

Arthur ignored him, but France was fuming. As Ivan closed the door to the room, he turned to England.

"Is 'e always like this?" he demanded.

"Pardon?"

"I 'ave barely seen you at all since you took 'im in." Francis complained, taking the smaller man by the shoulders "An'now you 'ave changed so much! Big brother is worried! There is something…not right about that boy!"

"You!" England shook him off "There's nothing wrong with Ivan! You haven't seen me because you've been so busy with America and Canada, and we only ever fight when we do see each other, so what exactly are you so pissed about?!"

"_Angleterre_-"

"Don't you _Angleterre_ me! Just because you're fucking up with your little brothers doesn't mean you can ruin my relationship with Ivan! I swear, you never fucking change!" England sighed in exasperation "Perhaps it would be best if you left first thing tomorrow."

"But-"

England walked away, leaving France staring after him. He proceeded strait to his room to prepare for bed, positively fuming. After a little while, there was a light knock on the door. England called to enter, and Ivan edged into the room in his bed clothes.

"Is Mr. France alright?" he asked innocently "He looked upset."

"He always looks like that." England spat "All that garlic he eats. Don't worry about it."

Ivan smiled happily and jumped into Englands bed. Finished changing, he joined him, and Ivan wrapped his arm around his big brother.

"Are you cold, Ivan?"

"Uh-hu."

"I'll get another blanket then."

"No, this is fine." Ivan insisted, keeping England pinned with a surprising amount of strength in his one arm "I like it better this way."

"Well…" whatever "That's fine. Just go to sleep."

Ivan smiled happily. The two stayed silent as they passed into slumber.

God knows what time it was. It was dark as pitch, the new moon high in the starry night sky. Francis had tossed and turned for a while, his mind buzzing. Something definitely wasn't right. Something about Ivan. Russia was a massive country, it didn't need Britains support. Even with the British Empire gaining more and more power, that boy was overly attached to Arthur. Something in those Lavender eyes rung false with him, but he just couldn't put his fingers on what. He wanted to grab England, take him away, shake him by the shoulders and make him understand… but what would he say? All he had the tingling in the back of his neck that told him something was awry.

His door opened. Frustrated and tired, France sat up.

"'Ave you decided to listen to listen to big brother, mon Angleterre?" he cried in exasperation "Or 'ave you come for another fight, because I am not in the mood!"

"_Niet_." Was the response from the dark.

France froze. Why was Russia coming to him in the dead hours of the night?

"Russia? Wh-what can I do for you?"

"You can go away."

"Wha?"

Russia came close, and as Frances eyes adjusted to the dim, he could see an unnerving fake smile plastered across his face. His whole spine turned to jelly as he was leered at by Russias cold stare.

"I'm happy now." Russia said simply "I won't let you ruin it. Not you. Not _him_. Not anyone."

He grabbed France by his nightshirt and pulled him up, Francis suddenly aware how strong the younger country was.

"He is not _your_ England anymore. He is _my_ England." He pointed out "Tomorrow you will leave, and you will not come back. If you do come back, I will kill you."

Russia released his shirt, and he fell back to the bed, aghast. The dead look on his face, the absolution in his voice. What a terrifying person.

"Go back to America." Russia suggested "And stay there. I'll be taking care of England now. Make your eros-eros love-hate relationship work with _him_ instead."

"_Him_?"

Russia didn't reply. He stared at him a moment more before leaving, back into the darkness from whence he came.

"See you in 1914." He muttered over his shoulder "Perhaps."

France was gone when England got up the next morning. How fucking rude! And after he had gone out of his way to be a gentleman to the bastard. He wasn't going to bother with that again, and he was going to give him a piece of his mind next time he saw him. England took out his frustration on his morning eggs as Ivan sat patiently at the table.

"Did that bastard say anything to you before he took off?" Arthur demanded.

"_Niet_, not a thing since last night." Ivan confirmed.

England grimaced and beat the eggs harder. Russia, watching him, simply smiled.


	2. Chapter 2 1914

Wow, I only posted the first chapter yesterday, And I've already gotten a ton of people following it! Thank you for your support! And for those of you wondering what the doujinshi was the inspired me - I'm sorry, I just can't find it! I looked for over an hour. That's literally hunderds of comics (And so much porn!). I really do want to find it. If I ever do, I will definitly update. Well, without further ado, on to chapter 2!

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Chapter 2. 1914

Time certainly flew by. The reign of Oliver Cromwell, the Stewarts and the mighty Queen Victoria had passed, and the past hundred years had been especially turbulent, with the industrial revolution giving birth to the railway, automated machinery, and vast social upheaval. What never changed, no matter how much time went by, was Russias devotion to his big brother England. England, a natural loner, hadn't noticed the other nations keeping their distance from the pair, nor had he seen his frozen glare in their direction, nor his cold words of warning. Inevitably, the Kaiser made his move for domination, launching the world into WW1. Britains king was bereft – how could he go to war against his own cousin? Britain himself, gently but firmly, reminded the king that most of Europes royals were related somehow, and that he couldn't ignore the will of the people just because of the long line German blood in his veins. He didn't particularly _want_ to go to war, but his hand was being forced.

Russia found it somewhat amusing – he wondered aloud if the king would be so upset if it was his Tsar – another of the kings cousins – that was causing, or in this much trouble, would he be so upset? He lost his humour when talk of America came up.

"America could be a valuable ally against the Kaiser." The Generals reasoned "He's got vast resources at his disposal."

"He's been at war since the dissolution of French Empire!" Ivan was quick to remind them "His economy is very unstable…he doesn't even have a railroad!"

"Picked up bad habits." Brtian muttered under his breath, although he wasn't overly against the idea of finally meeting the boy nation "Doesn't America have an isolationist attitude?" he reasoned aloud "Why would he involve himself in Europes affairs?"

"The world is changing." The Prime Minister reasoned "Our steam ships can cross the ocean to America in just days. How long before they can do it in hours? The world is shrinking, and the Americas won't be able to avoid the rest of us for long. We _need_ Americas help if we're going to win this war."

And it was settled, without much input from Arthur, that he would travel to America and meet with their representative, then travel by boat up to Canada. Truth be told, he was a little excited – everything that had stopped him going there before had disappeared, and for the first time he could explore the new world for himself. Sure, people had bought back interesting foods and animals and tales of adventure and heroism, but it wasn't the same as going yourself, was it? Completely expectantly, Ivan was fuming. He sat on Arthurs bed as he packed, arms crossed over his chest, watching his every move.

"Why doesn't Chamberlin go?" he asked.

"He's busy."

"Why doesn't the Minister of Foreign Affairs go?"

"He's busy dealing with the affairs going on in Europe."

"Why doesn't the King go?"

"Because he's the KING!"

Arthur grew exaperated, throwing his tweed suit into his case and looking Ivan dead in the eye. There was a steely resolution in them that Arthur had rarely seen.

"Why are you so against me going to America?" he asked outright "It's been this way for hundreds of years now – you aren't a child any more! I dare say you're twice my size! And aren't you going back for a little while anyway?"

"America will hurt you." He answered simply, absolutely resolute.

"How do you know?"

Ivan didn't answer. He bit his lip and continued to stare at Arthur.

"I know." Was all he said.

England set sail anyway. He saw Ivan off beforehand, so he didn't have to put up with him being so unreasonable. What exactly was he afraid of? Britain may not be an empire anymore, but he was going to talk with the Americas, not declare war on them! Ivan was too clingy – he was an adult now, master of his own affairs, but he still clung to Arthur like a shield against the world. Perhaps a little time apart would do them both good. Ivan would realise that he could get along without him, and Arthur wouldn't feel so cooped up, being in that little house with such a large man. Being on the ocean waves again bought back wonderful memories, and the feeling of adventure England thought he had lost. The boats may no longer be made of wood, but he swore he could smell the brine crashing against the hull like it had in days of old, the startling ocean air blasting away the cobwebs of life in the confines of Europe.

True to the Prime Ministers bragging, it took less than a week for the steamliner to reach New York. England had prepared himself for a long journey to Washington DC – Americas railroad was substandard at best – but to his relief, he was told America himself had come to New York to meet him. Walking through New York for the first time was an odd expereince. It seemed poor old America had been bombarded with all the most ridiculous parts of Frence culture, but without the hundreds of years of context that preceeded it, he had no idea how to interpret it. Style has clearly been put before substance in the buildings and parks that made up this city, looking stylish even while falling apart, but occasionally he saw thought in construction trying desperatly to break through – simple houses of brick and wood that looked dour against their fancy neighbours, but stable and warm.

Typical stupid France. Few roads were paved, and those that were paved were done in cobbles – fucking cobbles! The air was rich with the smell of French style cooking, but with the poor economy, the people looked half starved. No wonder France had such a sour relationship with America – perhaps if he had put more time into the young nations education, the people would be better off now. England arrived at his grand hotel – it looked absolutely splendid, with marble floors and deep patterned wallpaper adorning the lobby, but the staff were rude and woefully underskilled. Arthur picked up an underlying resentment towards him – was it because he was from Europe? Taking his own bags to his room (Not good service, thank you very much!), he was looking forward to getting away from this shambles until the time of his meeting with America.

Well, he was, but it seemed the time of the meeting had been changed. To right now.

America stood as Britain entered the room. The men surveyed each other carefully, taking in every detail. Americas hair…it was clearly dyed black, the blonde roots starting to escape from his scalp. From its length, he could see it was wavy the same way Frances was, and he had the same cerulean eyes, but he seemed to resent these features, hiding them behind glasses and a stetson. He had a feather and a line of beads in his hair – England hadn't seen something like that in a long time. His dress sense was half flashy, half practical – he was clearly trying to rebel against Frances influence over him, but was having difficulty in doing so. A large, jagged scar covered the left side of his face.

America pulled an odd face, clutching at his heart and turning away from England.

"Ah- I say, are you alright?"

Britain rushed forward, but with a swipe of his hand, America shook him off.

"Don't patronise me!" he shrieked, causing England to jump.

"What?"

America backed away from him, still holding his chest, and looked at the smaller nation with a mix of hurt and confusion. What did _he_ have to feel so confused about? Swallowing, he seemed to regain his composure.

"I want you to leave." He said simply to England "You Europeans have messed this country up enough. I don't want you interferring any more!"

Perhaps he _was_ mad. This behaviour was certainly…unusual.

"I'm not here to interfere." England promised "You're independent now, how you run your country is up to you. I'm here to talk about what's going on in Europe-"

"I don't care what's going on in Europe!" America practically screamed at him "I don't care about your war – its your problem, not mine, it has nothing to do with me! I won't let you use me like France did – I'm not your cannon fodder, I won't be fooled by your fancy words and your lies, and I am not your little brother!"

He screamed the last part particularly loudly. Despite the volume of his protestations, he only looked more and more confused by his own words. Distraught looking, almost to the point of tears, he stormed past England and out the room. Arthur was flabaghasted. What had just happened?

England had requested several times, but America had refused an official meeting with him after the episode in the hotel. What on earth was wrong with that boy? He was almost as big as Ivan (it was a vast land after all), but there was an instability in him that made England uncomfortable in his presence. That outburst…was he unhinged? It also made him wonder about France – how badly had he screwed up raising that boy that he had turned out like that?

The problem, however, didn't seem to be France afterall, at least if Canada was anything to go by. This young man – who looked more like France than America did – was affable and polite, and while he was understandably reluctant to join the war in Europe, he was at least willing to sit down and have a proper talk about it. His economy wasn't great either, but he seemed far more coherant than his brother. Canada, it seemed, shared his concern.

"Papa France really did his best." He insisted "America just seemed to attract bad luck and trouble no matter what. He tried his best to be good and learn… I just don't know what went wrong. There were famines, civil wars, outbreaks… Papa France wasn't strong enough to be strict with him, so things started going wrong…please don't think badly of him."

Unsuccessful, and more confused than anything else, Britain had no choice but to return home empty handed.

Russia arrived home before Arthur. He had his own keys, so it wasn't an issue. He loved England in the spring time – the mild weather gave birth to all manner of flowers, and the whole country was awash with colour and sweet scents. Arthurs home was a humble country cottage – a few hundred years old, but well maintained, clad in lyme and the stone from the local quarry, with a lush and verdent garden on all sides. Such a home suited him somehow, far more than the soulless flats he had in the major cities that he kept for work purposes. Ivan liked this little house, even as he felt more and more cramped as he grew taller. It felt cosy and warm, even when the weather was cold. His place in his homeland, while far more lavish, was cold and distant feeling. It wasn't welcoming. He never felt at home there.

Getting past the gate, Ivan inspected the sunflowers they had planted just before leaving – the shoots were growing nicely, but no sign of a bloom yet. No matter. They planted sunflowers every year, so he knew it would take a while for them to grow tall enough to flower. The thought made him smile. They planted sunflowers every year. He went inside, ducking under the low door – these british people were so short – and put his suitcase in his room. He put the kettle on – in his years here, he had learned to enjoy a hot, sweet cup of tea. He occassionally bought vodka back from home, but Arthur didn't approve of him drinking too much. He found he didn't mind. He knew his freedoms would be encroached when he came to live with England, but he found it far easier to deal with than he thought he would.

Dark thoughts crossed his mind, but he pushed them away. Arthur would be coming back from America soon. That ungrateful nation wouldn't steal Ivans place. Not now. The front door thudded open angrilly.

"Ivan, put the kettle on!" Arthur called, his voice strained and exasperated "I'm aching for a cuppa."

Russia just smiled as he poured the tea and took it to the living room, where an exhausted Arthur lay sprawled on the sofa. His trip to America had clearly gone badly.

"How was your trip?" he asked anyway, handing the tea to his big brother.

"A fucking waste of time! Cheers, love." He took the offered cup, taking a greedy sip "That America is unhinged, I tell you, and his country won't be of any use to us whatsoever! That Canada wasn't much help either, even if he wasn't as clearly a lunatic."

A warm satisfaction spread through Ivan, and he smiled broadly.

"I always liked Canada." He mused.

"Oh? Have you had much dealing with him?"

"_Niet_, but Matvey always seemed quiet and nice."

"Well…yes, I suppose he was."

Britain downed his cup and laid it on the table.

"What about you, Ivan, how was your trip?"

"It was good." He replied flatly "There is nothing to worry about – Russia will definitly be supporting England in the coming war."

"Well, no surprise there." England laughed "Did you see your sisters?"

"Yes, a little. I think our relationship is improving."

"Time and space will do that. It can be difficult when you're in each others pockets."

"You think so?" Ivan wondered "Isn't it best to stay close to those you love?"

"Well, sometimes. But siblings can drive each other mad. Back when I was living with France, all I wanted was my independence." Arthur laughed through his nose as he stood, stretching his tired back "I'm surprised you didn't ask to leave after a while."

"_Niet_." His the immediate response "I don't want to be alone."

There was a sharp knock at the door. England answered, finding a nervous looking young private.

"Yes?" he inquired.

"You're needed in London right away, Sir Kirkland." The fellow said quickly "Something strange has happened."

"Oh?" he tried not be sound alarmed "What is it?"

"America has showed up!" the private revealed "Out of nowhere! He didn't even call!"

Ivan was immediately alarmed, standing right behind Arthur. Britain simply sighed.

"_Shown_." He corrected "There is no such word as '_showed._' That lunatic probably didn't learn any manners from the Frog. Very well, I shall take the next train to London."

Britain moved past Russia to get his coat, but the larger nation grabbed his hands.

"Are you really going?" he insisted.

"I have to." England confirmed "He's come all this way, I have to greet him. Its protocol. Besides, he could be here to talk about the war."

"You said yourself he was a lunatic!"

"Be that as it may-"

"But-"

"IVAN!"

Britain yelled – he almost never yelled, and it caused the Russian to flinch unexpectedly. With a sigh, he calmed down.

"Stop acting like a child. You're like this whenever America comes up, and quite frankly I'm getting tired of it." He thought a moment "Why don't you come with me? You'll see there's nothing to worry about, and you can finally put this behind you!"

Ivan immediately grabbed his coat. There was no way he was letting Arthur see America alone.

America was noticably changed from when England had last seen him – he had tried his best to wash the dye from his hair, turning the bright yellow a dirty, sandy colour, although the beads and feather remained. He looked uncomfortable in a suit and tie, like he didn't know where to put his hands, but seemed far more composed than he had in New York. He stood as England and Russia entered the Embassy lounge, immediately casting a glare of healthy suspicion at Ivan.

"America," England greeted curtly "You won't see me when I'm in your country, but you follow me half way around the world to demand a meeting in mine? Are you completely without manners?"

"I'm sorry." He said immedialty.

That was somewhat off-putting. Arthur was all but ready to give the lad a piece of his mind, and he had apologised! Thrown off his stride, he could feel Ivans irritation on the air, composing himself for both their sakes.

"Well?" he continued "What do you want? You didn't come all this way just to say that."

"You're right." America continued awkwardly "And I am sorry. I didn't plan on saying all those mean things when I saw you. Something came over me and I started feeling really sick. France was always talking about you, so I was actually looking forward to finally meeting you." He looked him in the eye timidly, face flush with embarrasment "I don't know what went wrong."

"Perhaps you're just a lunatic, like everyone says." Russia said bluntly.

"Ivan, that's rude." Arthur chastised.

"Don't care. I don't like this face."

The two large nations openly glared at each other. Snesing the tension in the air grow, England spoke.

"I accept your apology." He announced, shocking the two others.

"Really?" America seemed surprised.

"Of course," England continued, somewhat smug that for once, he could be the bigger country "It can be difficult to meet new nations. And first impressions are difficult. Why don't we start over?" he extended his hand to America "I'm the United Kingdom."

America stared at him in disbelief a moment before, uncertainly, extending his own hand. Ivan immedialty snatched Arthurs hand away.

"DON'T TOUCH HIM!" he roared.

"Uh-"

"Iva-"

The Russian physically picked the Brit up, hauling him away from America, and pointing an accusing finger strait at him.

"You hear me, America!" he hissed angrilly "I won't let you come anywhere near Arthur! You had your chance and you fucked it up! Now he's mine, and I'm not handing him over to you! Not now, not ever!"

Ivan carried – literally carried! – Arthur away, leaving America stunned, rooted to the spot with his hand still raised. Hitting and kicking furiously, Arthur was madder than he had been in a very long time.

"What the hell is wrong with you?!" he demanded "What's gotten into you? Who talks to people like that? You don't even know him! Didn't I raise you better than this?!"

"Yes, you taught me better, but I know better!" Russia insisted.

He dropped England to the ground, immedialty throwing his arms around him and holding him tighter than he ever had before.

"You don't need America!" he went on "You have me! He is stupid and ungrateful! He threw your love away! I won't! I'll never push you away! You don't need him!"

"Ivan…"

Arthur, pressed firmly against the chest of the worlds largest nation, couldn't make head or tail of what he was going on about. Half in shock, the Russians words made less and less sense as he continued to ramble. What Arthur did know, however, was that something must be terribly wrong for his normally composed little brother to be so distraught. He hugged Ivan as best he could and rubbed his back soothingly.

"There, there, its alright." He cooed "I don't know what this is all about, but we'll take care of it. Just you calm down, okay?"

He stopped babbling, but he didn't let go, burying his face in his big brothers hair.

"Whatever the issue is, we'll talk it through." He promised "For now, why don't we just go home?"

With another little squeeze, Ivan realeased him and stood tall. His eyes were bloodshot – whatever that tantrum was about had clearly been close to his heart.

"The last train is gone." He pointed out "We will have to stay in the city tonight."

"Oh, bugger, you're right." Arthur realised "Well, while we're here, why don't he have dinner in China Town. You like Chinese food, don't you?"

"Da." Ivan confirmed "I like it."


	3. Chapter 3 The Other Today

Some things get explained in this chapter - or do they?! Dun-dun-duuuun! Please enjoy.

* * *

"This is bad, this is bad." The feckless politician behind him whimpered "Englands alliance with Russia goes back centuries, and if he doesn't like us, we can kiss goodbye to diplomatic relations in Europe!"

"Just calm down!" his fellow urged "We can get past this! We just have to find out what made Russia so mad and fix it somehow…"

"Well, turning up unannounced certainly didn't help! Al, you couldn't have waited a few days and let them know we were coming, could you?!"

America ignored them. Arms crossed against his chest, he stared out the blackening window to the street below, watching England and his giant little brother cross to the underground station. Underground. America didn't even have a proper overground! He clenched his teeth.

He hadn't lied – he had been looking forward to meeting England. He didn't want to join the war, but he rarely had visitors, and any chance to expand his trade had to be good. France had filled his head with tales of his odd but cute little brother England, which is why he had gone to New York to meet with him sooner. But the minute he saw him…the minute he met those forest green eyes, his heart seized up. His head started to spin. A wave of emotions suddenly over powered him. Waves of resentment, waves of pride, waves of…of loss. He felt physically sick. He couldn't meet the Englishman again until he knew where these emotions had come from. He still didn't, but…

He hated the cold look the small nation had given him. It struck him in the heart in a way he couldn't explain, but when he had extended his hand, with a friendly smile and warm expression…his heart was filled with hope. But why? And that other one, his 'little brother', Russia. What was with him? America took an instant dislike to him, and it appeared the feeling was mutual. Something about the giant stuck in his craw. Like they were natural enemies. Perhaps they were. He knew he had to get the Englishman alone, if he ever wanted to put this turbulence to rest.

The door to the lounge burst open, and in a flurry of fancy, France sauntered in.

"_Mon Petite_!" he called jovially "Where is _mon petite_?"

"M-Mr. Bonnefoy!"

"Over here, you old perv." America called with no enthusiasm.

"Ah, _bon, bon_!" he leapt across the room and threw his arms around the (slightly) taller man, who didn't bother to uncross his "I never imagined I would see you 'ere, America! I 'eard from my Generals you were on your way to see England, so I 'opped right over! Tell me, you come all this way, but you don't bother coming to see Papa?"

America shot him a glare, and he backed off – their relations were still a little rocky.

"I came to see England." He confirmed "I decided…"

He debated whether to not to tell the nosey European. Despite the bitterness between them, he still wanted France to be proud of him.

"I decided to turn my luck around." He said honestly "To take a positive step to become a better nation. I decided to make my own luck, not be a toy in the hands of fate anymore. That's why I'm here."

He expected France to laugh, but instead he smiled calmly.

"That is most _bon, mon petite_." He praised "You are really growing up."

America smiled a little, but quickly became moody again.

"It didn't go that well." He confessed.

"Russia?"

"Y-yeah, how did you know?"

"_Mon Dieu_, it is always the same!" France confirmed, flapping his hand about in the air "I swear, _Angleterre_ is the only one who cannot see 'ow eerie Russia is. All of Eurasia is scared of that creepy…" he caught himself, clearing his throat "It was _tres strange_. That Russia is like an evil shadow that 'aunts _mon Angleterre_, but 'e can't see it. It is like 'e is under a curse of black magic that Russia 'as cast." He sighed pitifully "I want to get Arthur away from that brute, but I am just as scared of Russia as everyone else."

* * *

France may have been more right than he imagined. Freshly bathed, Ivan sat on the floor before the sofa, letting Arthur dry his hair. He enjoyed this physical closeness – at first he had embraced it as novelty, but as time went on, he found a genuine, innocent pleasure in this chaste affection. The great British Empire was surprisingly affectionate with his 'little brother', even moreso than Russia had expected, but he certainly wasn't complaining. He mused over the days events. He couldn't let things lie. That America would find a way to ruin it, he knew.

Once Arthur had fallen asleep, Ivan left the flat and made his way back to the American Embassy. Despite the late hour, he was welcomed in cordially and shown to a meeting room, a little more formal than the lounge they had been in before, to await America. He arrived half dressed, that familiar look of distrust on his face. The two stared each other down before sitting at opposite sides of the table.

"Just so you know, I don't want to be here." America pointed out "But my boss thinks I should try to improve our relations."

"Won't happen." Was Russias immediate answer.

"Then why did you bother coming here?" the blonde demanded "Or are you just going to throw more threats at me?"

"I thought about it." Russia admitted "But such things never really worked with you before. Then I remembered I am much smarter than you, so decided I would try to explain."

"Before?" America was confused "You and I have never met before today!"

Russia couldn't help but smile. It gave him a perverse glee to know he could hold something over America.

"Perhaps." He smirked "But this is only this today. Things were very different in another today."

He was relishing the utter perplexion on the idiots face.

"Listen carefully, I will tell you this only the once." He warned "If you are too stupid to understand, that's your problem." He smiled broader, reminiscent of the smile he always used to wear "In a different today, England was not injured at sea. He went to the new world, and found you, and took you in as his little brother. But you were ungrateful and spoiled, and you hurt him badly."

Russias smile faded as he remembered the 'other today.'

"It was hard to see how much he loved you, and you didn't care. He wanted to take care of you, but you pushed him away." His fists clenched in his lap "You were raised surrounded by warmth and safety. You wanted nothing. So ungrateful…"

He clenched his teeth so hard, pain shot up the sides of his skull. Suddenly, he smiled.

"You always wanted him gone, so I asked you if I could have him instead." He continued "And I don't know what happened then, but somehow that today changed into this today. I was Englands beloved little brother instead of you. I had all his love, all his protection, and you were left in the cold with nothing in my place."

He laughed a little at the look of horror and confusion on Americas face.

"It's funny – do you think that you can wish for something so much for so long that God himself will grant your wish?"

America started to get mad. His eyes darted about as memories of the past flashed through his mind.

"In your place?" he gasped "All these terrible things that have happened to me, all the upheaval, all the death, all the …shit! In your place?!"

"Yes," Russia confirmed "It seems I took your good luck along with the one who loved you most. And you're much younger than I am, so you have much more bad luck to come."

"Why…why would you…did you hate me that much?"

"A happy side-effect." Russia admitted "But yes, I hate you. I knew that if England met you again, this today might once again become that today – you would take his love and I would be alone again. I couldn't let that happen."

"You ruined my life!" America roared, barely staying in his seat "For what? For England?!"

"For love. I'd ruin the whole world for that."

"I don't… I don't understand…"

"You never did. Most likely you never will. You're slow and ungrateful." Russia stood to leave, and America jumped to his feet as if he were expecting a fight.

Russia just smiled.

"You and I both got what we wanted. Don't blame me because you made bad choices."

With that, he left. America was an idiot, that much hadn't changed. He wondered sometimes why he was the only one who had remembered the other today. Was it another gift from God, remembering the pain and loneliness he had suffered before, so he could better appreciate his life now? He didn't, as they say, look this gift horse in the mouth.

London was boring this time of night (unless you liked alcohol and prostitutes, in which case there was tons to do!) so he headed back to the flat, silently letting himself back in. He hadn't woken England. As he changed for bed, his mind drifted back to the other today, and his heart was overcome with unease. Quiet as a shadow, he went to Arthurs room and lay on the bed with him.

It hadn't even been about England at first. Or even America. Russia had watched them quietly over the years, as he watched everyone. He saw how much England treasured America, even through their mutual stubbornness. He had never been treasured. Abused, alone and feared, most certainly, but never treasured. He might have been able to live with it – having even his own family quake in fear from him – had he not known any better. Had he not seen that a person could be treated so gently as England did America. Knowing that…that was cruel. Far more cruel than not knowing was wanting. He wanted to be treasured. He wanted to be treated gently.

But he wasn't a fool – he knew there was no way he could be treasured. His brutal past, the bad decisions made by his bosses, his own poor reputation…even if he lived another thousand years, he doubted he would be treasured. He started to become jealous of America. Jealous, on top of hating him for all the other reasons. Naturally, the more he watched the two, the fonder he felt towards England. He saw how cold America was to him, to the one who loved him most, and how badly it hurt him. He saw his bright green eyes struck with pain and betrayal every time the idiot rebuffed him, said something foolish and hurtful without a second, or perhaps a single thought. Every time he saw that expression, he wanted to hurt America. England just picked himself up and moved on, sometimes easily, but mostly not.

Russia wanted to take the hurt from his eyes. He wanted to take all the pain America caused him and throw it back in the over-stuffed fools face. He wanted to hold England in his arms and reassure him, tell him the pain would stop. He kept watching England, hoping to catch a glimpse of him happy. 'Happy' was not a word anyone he knew would use to describe England. What started as interest soon turned to obsession – England, Arthur, soon took up his every thought, and a longing set in, like a sudden realization that he was missing a limb.

Arthur stirred in his sleep, bringing Ivan back to this today. He opened his Emerald eyes, still more than half asleep.

"Ivan." He mumbled "What's wrong?"

He stared at him a moment, taking in his trusting, defenseless face, before reaching over and gently stroking his head.

"Arthur," he started gently "Do you ever regret that you took me in as your brother?"

"What? That's silly." Arthur laughed gently "Why would I regret it? Did you have a bad dream or something?"

"_Da_." Ivan confirmed, barely above a whisper "I dreamt I was alone. There was someone else by your side, but he treated you badly. I dreamt that you were distant from me, and nothing I did would bring you closer."

Arthur inspected him, barely conscious, but clearly concerned. He fished his arms out from under the covers and wrapped them around Ivans neck.

"Just a dream, love." The reassured "Don't let it bother you."

Ivan wrapped his arms around Arthurs whole body and held him close.

"And if it were true?" he wondered aloud.

"It wouldn't matter." Arthur promised "Even if you weren't my little brother, I would still care about you, silly."

Ivan smiled sadly, although Arthur couldn't see, knowing that, not matter what Arthur promised, it simply wasn't true.

* * *

"EEEHH?! AN EVIL CURSE! I KNEW IT! I KNEW IT!" France shrieked with abandon as America finished his tale "America, call Canada, we're declaring war on that frozen bastard! 'Ow dare 'e cast an evil curse on _mon Angleterre_! Bastard!"

America chewed over what Russia had told him. Supposing he was telling the truth – and something deep within the young nation told him that he was – was he right? Was this something he had wished for? Had he had everything, and wished it away? Had he bought hundreds of years of bad luck upon himself, through being selfish and toying with someone else's heart? He couldn't remember, but… the way he felt when he had first laid eyes on England in that hotel in New York. The overwhelming sense of loss, the sickness. He felt Russia was wrong, but he had no proof.

"We can't declare war on Russia." America reasoned "Are you forgetting about what's going on with Germany?"

Francis pulled a face.

"Ugh, you are right. And England would just come to 'is aid anyway." He groaned "I haven't won against 'im in a long, long time" he muttered under his breath.

"'A gift from God.'" Al mused "Is that really possible?"

"God of 'ell, maybe."

"What other power could change reality? And why would they do it for Russia? For what reason?"

"Why does that matter, Alfred?" Francis asked "It is done now, 'oo cares 'oo did it?"

"Because they may be able to undo it." He pointed out obviously.

"Ah… you are right…" France thought hard "God, eh? That may be 'ard."

"Well, who else could it be? What other being has that kind of power?"

"_Mon petite_, you are so ignorant."

"Ha?!"

"Young, I said young!" France insisted, remembering centuries ago when the use of magic was far more common "Ah, the tricks we used to pull! I remember _mon Angleterre_ was always trying to curse me…"

Americas ears pricked.

"England used to curse people?"

"Still does, _mon am_i, 'is basement is full of magic bo-"

He trailed off, following his train of thought to its logical conclusion.

"Get the car, Alfred, it is breaking and entering time!"


	4. Chapter 4 The Only One

This is the last chapter in this story - I've kept it short so it doesn't over stay its welcome. I hope you enjoy it!

* * *

Chapter 4. The Only One

The roads of 1914 England weren't known for being brightly lit (or particularly useful), but America was definitely liking driving on the paving. So much so that he resolved to start paving his own roads when he got home. And why the hell England live in the Lake District instead of London? And why was it called 'the Lake District'?

"Because it is full of lakes." France pointed out flatly, clutching his seat with white knuckles (as seat-belts had yet to be invented) "Are you sure you know 'ow to drive, Alfred?"

"Of course. Why?"

"EYES ON THE ROAD!"

The drive from London to the Lake District took a good few hours. It felt far longer for both parties, partly because Americas 'driving' was reckless at best (and he insisted on driving on the wrong side of the road, causing quite a few near misses), and partly because of the strained relations between him and 'Papa France.' They sat in silence for most of the drive, allowing them to cool their heads. France, much calmer than when he had first heard Russias tale, was the first to break the silence.

"Alfred, per'aps you should pull over." He suggested.

"Why's that? Gotta take a leak?" America asked, squinting in the darkness of the unlit country roads.

"_Non, non_, I 'ave just been thinking." He confessed.

"Thinking what?"

"Why are we doing this?"

"Why? To break Russias evil curse, of course!"

"But are we, though?"

America looked at him, seeing the deep and thoughtful look on his face, and stopped the car in the middle of the road.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"I 'ate Russia." France admitted "Arthur and I 'ave not been so close since 'e showed up. But when I do see 'im, 'e looks… 'appier. And what if Russia was telling the truth?"

"Russia ruined my life!" was all America cared about "He took everything in my life that was good! I always blamed you for all the bad things that happened, but it was his fault!"

"Was it, though?" France smiled sadly at America "I 'ave thought about it, where I went wrong raising you. I think that I was not strong enough… _Mon Angleterre_… Arthur has always lived in 'ardship, ever since he was small, and is 'as made 'im strong. The 'ardships you faced when you were small,_ mon Angleterre_ would 'ave known 'ow to deal with them far better than I."

America gaped at him, not believing what he was hearing.

"I am sorry, Alfred, that I was not a good big brother to you."

"I… I don't-"

"Please, let me finish." France insisted "It is never too late, as long as we are alive, to fix the mistakes we 'ave made. You, me, Canada, there is still time for us, if we work 'ard, but Arthur…" he trailed off with a sigh "Did God change the world for Russia, or for England?"

"For England?"

"_Mon petite frere_, 'e is proud and stubborn but when 'e takes you to 'is heart, you will be there for all time. To 'urt 'is 'eart will do him far more damage than any German army could inflict. I know." He pulled at the shirt over his heart uncomfortably "I 'ave 'urt 'him, and 'e 'as 'urt me, for centuries we 'ave brothers, sworn enemies and close friends. 'E is as my shadow, even now… If 'e was so un'appy that God changed all the world for 'im, I cannot bare to change it back."

"That's the problem!" America insisted "He changed the whole world! It wasn't just Russia and England that were affected, think of the changes there must have been to history! Everything that never happened, that happened differently, wars that could have been avoided, or wars that have started. What if everything is different?!"

"Then everything will be different."

America had no answer. How could France just accept the world as it was?

"But what if the other today is better than this today?" was all he could say.

"And what if it is worse?"

America stared at the (much) older nation incredulously. Silently, he restarted the car and continued to Englands place.

* * *

The village was small, and small villages talk. Wary of alerting the local constable, the two left the car in the village square and walked the rest of the way to Arthurs cottage.

"These houses are tiny!" America marveled.

"These 'ouses are older than you are." France pointed out quietly.

"You're kidding!"

Was it still considered 'breaking in' when you had a key? America didn't really understand why France had a key to England house, but like everything to do with his and Englands relationship, he assumed it was complicated. France knew his way around well enough to find the basement without turning on the lights, instead relying on the illumination of his lighter. America tripped and stumbled over seemingly everything that lay in the hall.

"_Mon deiu_, you would take a terrible burglar."

"Why are British houses so full of shit?!"

"Be quiet!"

They made their way, as quietly as possible, to the basement room where England kept his magic paraphernalia. With no windows to give away their presence, they flicked on the overhead light.

"Jesus!" America cried as he saw the shelves piled high with ancient books, dusty vials of mysterious liquids and heavy iron cauldrons, all covered in centuries old wax and ominous dark smears "I feel like I'm getting cursed just standing here!"

"Don't you 'old the beliefs of the American Indians?" France queried.

"Yeah, and they believe in curses too!"

"Hm."

Not having any other place to start, they began pulling the tomes from the bookcases, and immediately came across a problem.

"Uh…what language is that?" America asked.

"Judging by the absurd number of consonants, I guess its Welsh. Ugh, this is Gaelic! Viking runes, Nordic symbols… 'ow old are these books?!"

"Nordic?"

"Britain 'as a long and colourful 'istory of being invaded." France laughed "I doubt there is anyone in the whole country only descended from Celts."

"Hm." America flipped absently through the book he was holding "So you Europeans don't just go taking advantage of new countries then, or were you just sick of ransacking and pillaging each other?"

"…Time and a place, Alfred."

America snorted in derision and tossed the book aside, where it made a heavy thud against the floor.

"I would appreciate it if you didn't go throwing around my books!"

"_Mon Dieu_!"

England!

"How?!"

He stood before the door, clad in his black cape, and he looked_ pissed_.

"I gave you that key for emergencies, Francis, not so you could break in and wreck shit! What are you doing in my house?"

"_Angleterre_…"

"We're here to find a way to break Russia curse!" America announced "And restore the world to the way it should be!"

"His what?" England looked dumbfounded.

"Russia has cast an evil curse on you!" He continued to declare "He changed history so that you and I never met, so that he was your little brother! This isn't the way the world should be, and I'm here to change it back!"

France said nothing. It was all technically true. Clearly America had taken nothing from their talk in the car. England, however, took it all in stride.

"Why?" he asked.

"Wh…what?" America clearly hadn't expected that.

"Why do you want to change it back? What's wrong with things the way they are now?"

"Because its not fair!" the young nation blurted "Russia took everything that should have been mine! He took all my happiness, all my security, all the love I should have had. You have no idea how much I suffered because of him!"

"_Instead_ of him." England corrected.

"Eh?"

"You didn't suffer _because_ of Russia." England confessed "You suffered _instead_ of him. An unexpected side effect, but I suppose it was inevitable."

"Arthur, don't tell me…" France was aghast.

England smiled in confirmation.

"It was my spell." He told the others.

France could only look away, but America was furious.

"Why?! I don't understand! Why would you do that?! Why would you make me suffer?!"

"It wasn't my intention." Arthur reassured "I just wanted to go back…back to when you didn't look at me so coldly. Back to when you always looked so happy to see me. I wanted to start over, do things right…" he smiled "I didn't count on Russias magic getting in the way of my spell."

"Russia 'as magic?"

"It's a kind of magic, I'm sure. I don't even think he knows how he does it." England confirmed with a nod "His magic kept me from remembering I had cast the spell for a long time. When I did remember, I saw no point in changing anything."

"No point…no point?!" America was distraught "What about me?!"

England laughed through his nose.

"You're still very selfish. Its nice to know that wasn't my fault in raising you."

"But-"

"You wanted me gone." England told him matter-of-factly "It was always 'leave me alone', 'stop bothering me', 'I'm not your brother anymore!' I could only take so much. That's why I tried to make things better. But then Ivan was there instead. He wanted to be around me – even when we fought, the things he said were never as hurtful as what you would say. Even now, when we're almost caught up…hundreds of years, and he still wants to be by side." He snorted "You never loved me like that."

"But he's a psychopath!" Americas voice was desperate "You don't even know-"

"I'm not blind to how he is." England interrupted "But he's not the monster you imagine him to be."

"_Mon Angleterre_," France interrupted quickly "I 'ave to know. This world…is it better?"

England looked at him a moment, clearly thinking. He scratched his head and addressed the other nations.

"It's different." He said "It's not better, not worse."

"Are you 'appy, _mon Frere_?"

Finally, England seemed surprised. He smiled.

"Yes, I am."

France sighed.

"_Bon_. Very well." He moved away from America, towards the door "If that is 'ow it is."

"What are you saying?" America demanded "You're just going to leave things like this?!"

"_Oui_." Was the simple reply as Francis stopped next to Arthur "You should let go of that other world, Alfred. We can work on making this world what we want it to be."

"But, _that_ world is what I want it to be!"

"But you are the only one, _mon petite_." France tried to make him understand "If we change the world back, you will the only one 'appy."

"Are you saying you're happy the way things are?"

"_Non_," France admitted "But I am not un'appy. No matter what 'appens, I can only move forward. You should learn to do the same America."

"I don't understand…"

"You will. When you grow up."

"I guess you have a choice now, America." England announced "Try to move forward in this world, or curse others to a life and misery and suffering so you can be happy."

With that, the two older nations left. America, alone and confused, sunk to his knees in the cold basement.

"But what about me?"

* * *

Thanks to his late night escapades, it was pretty late in the morning when Ivan awoke. Arthur was an early riser, so the bed was vacant, and if not for Ivans presence in it, it would have been made. His belly demanded feeding, and hearing pottering about in the kitchen, he got up. Sure enough, Arthur was there in an apron, preparing ingredients.

"About time you got up." He scolded "Were you planning on sleeping all day? Go wash up, I'm making brunch."

"Please don't. I want to live."

"You brat!"

Arthur smacked Ivan with a spatula. The much larger nation just laughed.

"Can't we go out for brunch?" he asked.

"Not today – we're going out for dinner with France."

"Why France?"

"Because sometimes its nice. Besides, he's going to be our ally against the Kaiser."

"Great. We will throw fancy food and cologne at the Germans, that will make them leave."

Arthur couldn't help but laugh, and Ivan took his chance to grab his hands and hold them playfully above his head.

"I will have dinner with France if I must, but I'm begging you, let me cook!"

"You!" Arthur huffed "You can help cook. Deal?"

"Not ideal, but I accept."

* * *

WHAT KIND OF ENDING IS THAAAAT?! But really, that is the end. I may do a sequel if the mood strikes (or if I'm asked nicely). I know not all stories have happy endings, but no matter who wins in this story, someone loses, and there's not really a hero or villain. France came off kind of wise in the end - I wonder what happened there?

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed reading it, because I enjoyed writing it. I have other ideas, so if you liked this nonsense, please keep your eyes peeled for me!


	5. Chapter 5 Source info

UPDATE!

Fucking found the bastard! I stated at the beginning of chapter 1 that I had read a doujinshi that inspired me to write 'In Your Place', but I couldn't find it or remember what it was called. Well, I found it!

It's called 'Yummy Nabe', and is a collection of short stories, centering around USUK stories. It was the second story that inspired me. Check it out (if you're over 15. No outright smut, but some suggestive stuff in other stories). I won't post a link, but if you're really interested, inbox me!


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